


A Holiday Proposal

by christah88



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AKA The Secret Proposal Getaway, Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluffier than the hair on Aziraphale's sweet little head, Gabriel is giving Wedding Planning a try, M/M, Ye Grande Holiday Shenanigans Tour
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:02:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28051350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/christah88/pseuds/christah88
Summary: “So you’ll ask him?” Gabriel demanded. “You promise, you will ask your demon Crowley to marry you, at midnight on New Year’s in the South Downs?”Crowley froze, hidden in the back room. The world grayed out around him.“Yes.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I promise.”---Aziraphale invites Crowley on a tour of the country to spread blessings and mischief for the holiday season. He doesn’t mention anything about a bloody wedding at the end of it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

The poignant sting of being a demon in unrequited love with an angel, Crowley mused, was how terribly off-brand it was. Presentation meant everything, Crowley knew that. Did anyone think Eve would have eaten that apple if she knew the Serpent of Eden was smitten for a fluffy-headed bookkeeper who foisted creme cakes and meringue upon poor, hapless ne’er-do-wells attempting to break into his shop, and who never pulled Crowley’s card on the first try, no matter how many times he roped the demon into another third-rate parlor trick?

“Now, I’m quite sure it’s one of these,” Aziraphale said, holding up four playing cards with their backs to him. His cheeks were flushed. His eyes flitted between the cards as he bit his lip, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. Crowley slunk against the counter at the front of the bookshop, attempting to hold in his smirk.

“Let’s see, then,” the demon said in a drawl that curled at the edges.

Aziraphale hummed in response, still eyeing the cards in his hand, then dragged his fingertips across them to search for supernatural signatures. Before Crowley could protest this obvious bit of rule-breaking, the angel looked up at him, eyes wide with dismay.

“Oh dear,” he said, picking up the deck he’d left on the table. “I don’t believe I’ve found your card, after all.”

Bloody torture, is what it was. Why him? Of all the innocent, chaos-making demons in the cosmos, why had the infinite universe chosen _him_ to have a laugh at? 

Crowley sighed, long-suffering. He turned and leaned back on his elbows on the countertop.

“Try again?” he offered.

He listened as Aziraphale gathered the cards together. “Thank you, dear boy. Yes, I think I know where I went wrong. One more time should, ah—” an aborted shuffle, followed by the scattering of what sounded like half the deck “—should be the ticket.”

Was the Almighty pranking him? Crowley knew She had a sense of humor, but this didn’t seem like Her Kind of Joke: stationing Her most perfect angel, who was soft and courageous with a bastard streak that could be seen from space, on Earth where Crowley would find him and follow him and become so irrevocably attached to him as to hang around all day in a dusty bookshop, except for when he nipped down the street to pick up the angel’s pastries and dried teas?

No, not a prank, then. A Punishment.

“Here we are,” Aziraphale announced. Crowley glanced to the side. The angel held his freshly-rearranged deck out over the counter. “Pick a card, any card, my dear, but _don’t_ let me see which one it is.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and reached for the deck.

Aziraphale yanked back the cards. “Not that one!”

Crowley let his hand fall with a _slap_ onto the counter. “You’re ridiculous. Why don’t you just tell me which one to pick and have done with it, hm?”

The angel brightened. “Oh, alright then. It does help the spectacle if you just pick the right one to begin with.” He pushed his round glasses up his nose and flicked the deck over to peruse their faces. “There.” He wiggled the seven of hearts slightly out of place and turned the cards back over, then looked up at Crowley expectantly.

The demon took a deep breath through his nostrils. It was disgraceful how charmed he was. That was the poignant sting of being in unrequited love with Aziraphale. His angel went about his business as absurdly as he pleased, yet Crowley was the one made indecent by witnessing it.

Crowley lowered his gaze. He pulled the indicated card and held it to his chest.

They went through the motions of the card trick that Aziraphale had been attempting for millenia, it felt like. Crowley kept watching his face. He couldn’t look away. His angel was so expressive, so delighted to share his abysmal magician’s tricks.

“I think- oh, yes, I’m almost certain this time, my dear- Is _this_ your card?”

Aziraphale flicked the other cards aside, brandishing the seven of hearts, his sweet face alight with excitement. Crowley burst into applause, then took the card and jumped upon the countertop, holding it above his head.

“Did you see that?” he demanded of the empty bookshop. “He pulled my card! And on the first try, too!”

“Alright, you’ve made your point—” Aziraphale tutted, glancing up at the ceiling for patience.

“The amazing Mr. Fell, my good people!” Crowley flourished the card at him. “Your humble proprietor, collector of rare and unusual books, is a downright angel of the illusionary arts—”

“Get down, get down,” Aziraphale hissed behind his smile, grabbing Crowley’s hand. He tugged gently, and Crowley obeyed his request, stepping down from the counter to Aziraphale’s chair and then to the floor.

“That’s better,” the angel said as he fussed with Crowley’s jacket, flicking at a piece of lint the demon hadn’t noticed. Crowley could see the smile he was only half-successful in suppressing. “I’d hate to see you fall and injure yourself before our trip.”

“I would never,” Crowley protested. “And miss out on Ye Grande Holiday Shenanigans Tour? You’ve lost it, angel, if you think you could get rid of me that easily.” He disentagled himself from Aziraphale’s grip and sauntered across the foyer. He spent more time than strictly necessary examining the bookshelves before he picked one to sprawl against, which was why Crowley didn’t immediately notice Aziraphale wringing his hands together like he was attempting to build himself up to saying something. The demon’s eyes narrowed behind his shades.

“Get rid of you?” Aziraphale repeated with a breathy laugh. “That’s not— that’s the opposite of what I want, you silly serpent. I was a little nervous you might have forgotten about it, in fact—”

Crowley made a face. “”Course I didn’t forget. It’s not every day an angel asks you to go tromping around the country, spreading mischief for the holidays, after all.”

“Mischief _and_ blessings,” Aziraphale corrected, blinking at him across the dusty bookshop. “You promised.”

He heaved a huge sigh. “Yes, alright. It’s not like I don’t have experience performing blessings, doing your dirty work for nearly a thousand years, now.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “We leave next weekend, remember. We’ll be in Tadfield for Christmas again, of course, but that gives us nearly the whole week to toodle about and find some really deserving humans to bless for the holidays.” He clapped his hands happily, eyes twinkling.

“I think we’re more likely to come across humans who really deserve to be messed with, but we’ll cross the bridge when we come to it,” Crowley said, rather gregariously if you asked him.

“And then— I was thinking, for New Year’s— of course, we don’t have to, could always come back to London if you’ve other plans— you probably do, now that I think on it—”

“No, I don’t,” Crowley interrupted. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Aziraphale’s fluttering about, or the ridiculous notion that Crowley might have something better planned that didn’t include his angel. He wanted to say so, but he didn’t. Instead, he crossed his arms, still slouching artfully against a bookshelf, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s cheeks pinked and he smoothed his hands down the front of his vest. “Well, then— I was wondering, my dear, if you might want to extend our trip another week after Christmas. We could explore the coast; I’ve heard the, uh—” his breath seemed to catch, “—the South Downs are lovely, even in winter.”

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Sure, angel,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

Aziraphale seemed to wilt with relief, and no small amount of pleasure. “Oh, thank you, darling,” he said. “I was rather counting on you to be my ride, after all. I’m not sure what I would have done if you didn’t want to go. Probably call a Hoover, I imagine.”

“Uber,” Crowley corrected, lips twisting upwards at the image of Aziraphale flying over the countryside on the back of a vacuum cleaner. “Why wouldn’t I want to go? ‘S no one else I’d rather ring in the New Year with.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide, a lovely flush crawling up his neck beneath the bow-tie. That was too much, wasn’t it? Crowley clenched his jaw. It was a wretch, guarding his feelings so they wouldn’t boil over and scald his angel, at odds with the comfort and ease he felt in the other’s presence ninety-five percent of the time.

“Oh, yes—” Aziraphale fluttered. “—good, I’m- I’m glad to hear it. Well, I’ve so much to prepare before we leave, what with closing up the shop and bounding off for a few weeks, I hope you don’t mind if I take your leave a bit early and ask you to…” He stumbled a few steps out from behind the counter, one hand fluttering at the door.

“Oh.” Crowley straightened, trying to hide his surprise. He pressed the bridge of his glasses against his nose to assure himself they were still on his face, shielding his eyes from view. “Yeah, sorry— ‘course, I’ve stayed too long anyway— Bet you haven’t thought about how underfoot I’ll be on this trip, annoying you at every moment—” Shut _up_ , Crowley; Wonderful, you’ve got him thinking about how irritating you are, congrats you, wouldn’t even blame him if he left you behind at this point—

“Thank you so much for understanding,” Aziraphale gasped, turning the doorknob and yanking the door open. “I really don’t mean to hurry you out,” he said as he did just that, bustling the demon onto the doorstep. “I’ll see you soon, yes? Duck-sally.” And before Crowley knew it, he was outside on the street, alone in the raw chill of mid-December without anyone to keep him company.

He stared at the door, where the angel turned the sign decisively to ‘Closed’, then drew his jacket closer for warmth. He was never good at choosing comfort over fashion, something he imagined Aziraphale might have helped him with, if only he could have managed to ask. Crowley turned to Mayfair, trudging through the first few flurries of an early snowstorm. Six thousand winters, and he’d never yet quite grown used to them.

That was the poignant sting of unrequited love, Crowley thought glumly as he trudged, shivering, towards home. The unrequited-ness of it.

Hours later, Aziraphale was still pacing the back room of his bookshop, a roaring fire flickering in the fireplace beside him. He wished Crowley were there, sprawled upon his couch with a glass of deep, velvety red in his hand as he teased Aziraphale out of his nerves. Then again, that scenario was, more or less, what he wished for all of the time, these days. And for much longer besides, if he cared to be so honest with himself.

Which, truth be told, he didn’t, most days. Aziraphale was an angel in love with a demon; his situation didn’t endear itself to honesty at the best of times.

But he’d done it. He’d broached the subject of extending their trip into the new year to explore the coast. He hadn’t expected Crowley to agree so easily. His stomach fluttered.

Of course, the South Downs wasn’t half what Aziraphale needed to ask. He tried to imagine it, standing in front of Crowley and looking him in the eye when he— the angel grew short of breath, his chest tightening— when he asked him— 

Aziraphale shuddered, heart quailing.

A knock at the front door shook him from his thoughts. He frowned, glancing from the back room into the foyer. Had those ruffians returned for more meringue, he wondered, and paced to the front of his shop, twitching aside the window shade.

He gasped, stumbling backwards. He looked desperately around his bookshop, draped in gray shadows. Surely he could hide somewhere— perhaps he’d climb to the top of a bookshelf and perch there, hoping against hope he wouldn’t look up—

“Aziraphale!” The archangel Gabriel rapped his fist against the door again, three sharp knocks that reverberated through Aziraphale’s fingers and toes. He jumped, feeling as though he’d been a tad electrocuted. “Come on, let’s not go through this again,” Gabriel pleaded, voice muffled through the door. “I know you’re there. I’m just checking in. I want to help! We’re on the same side, here—”

Aziraphale snorted at the statement, indignation returning to him like warmth seeping back into frozen limbs. He took a deep breath, straightened his waist coat, and pulled open the door.

“Gabriel,” he greeted the other angel with a solemn nod. _Remember what you stand to gain,_ Aziraphale told himself. _A chance for something you hadn’t dared dream of. Even- Even if Crowley decides he doesn’t want it,_ his heart trembled at the thought, _just to have had the chance will be worth it in the end._

He stepped aside, sweeping an arm at the bookshop behind him. “You’d better come in, then,” he said.

Crowley was an unreasonably optimistic demon, which was why he and the Bentley were speeding through the quiet streets of Soho at midnight on that mid-December’s eve. He was on his way back to Aziraphale’s bookshop for a nightcap. He planned to sweep dramatically into the back room, then fall upon the couch and snap a glass of wine into existence as though he’d been invited. It wasn’t like Aziraphale would be asleep, he told himself. And really, the bookshop at midnight was nearly as much Crowley’s home as it was Aziraphale’s; the angel had woven Crowley into the wards he set about the property from his very first day as proprietor.

He pulled into his usual parking spot across the street and down the road. The night was brisk, the air still but wet as Crowley unfurled himself from the driver’s seat and stalked along the sidewalk. He shivered in his fashionably-thin jacket, longing for the warmth of Aziraphale’s study, the fire crackling safely behind its grate.

He turned, the bookshop’s entrance directly across from him. The windows were dark, but for a small, flickering light at the heart of the shop—

Crowley halted, fear and dismay crashing through his idle thoughts like an icy wave. There was a second presence inside the bookshop, in addition to his angel’s warm and familiar aura. What was more, Crowley recognized the other presence, though he’d only had the misfortune a few times before. He’d earnestly hoped the last time Gabriel had seen ‘Aziraphale,’ that his angel would never be forced to endure his company again.

Crowley darted across the street, then slunk around the side of the bookshop. He glanced about for potential onlookers, before sidling into the shadows and shifting to his snake form.

He slithered up the brick wall to a high window and peered inside, hugging his body against the stonework. The window looked into the bookshop’s back room, as Crowley well knew, where a cup of tea cooled upon a side table next to a half-empty bottle of wine, and the fireplace crackled merrily behind a sturdy grate.

Crowley knocked his head against the window, directing his powers to flick open the latch, and he oozed himself carefully into the room and down the wall. His tail snapped the window shut again behind him, then Crowley pooled himself into a darkened corner, listening for voices.

“Come on, Aziraphale,” Gabriel was complaining from the other room, closer than Crowley had expected. “You and I both know you want this— you _and_ that demon of yours—”

Crowley slithered along the wall, baring his fangs. He didn’t know why the archangel was there, or what he wanted with Aziraphale, but he was prepared to fight if Gabriel tried to use force. As long as he was able, he would do his best to protect his angel.

“I won’t- I _can’t_ argue with you on that point; not for myself, anyway,” Aziraphale admitted from the other room. Crowley could _hear_ him wringing his hands together. He crept closer to the doorway into the main bookshop. “But as for Crowley—” The demon paused, surprised to hear his name spoken. “—well, I haven’t exactly brought it up to him yet…”

“Are you serious?” Gabriel demanded. “What are you waiting for? The wretched creature won’t say no, not to you—”

Crowley bristled, though he couldn’t find it in himself to disagree with the wanker. What could Aziraphale possibly want to ask him, that he would be willing to speak about with the fucking archangel Gabriel, of all people, who’d tried to extinguish him with holy fire, before he’d speak to Crowley—

He flicked his tongue at the air, irritable and tense. It didn’t _seem_ like Gabriel was going to try and assassinate his best friend again, but he was finding the trespass rather difficult to forget.

What could Azirapahle have to say to Gabriel, he wondered again, that he couldn’t say to Crowley?

He slumped backwards a bit, away from the door, still close enough to eavesdrop.

“That’s kind of you, but I’m not sure I agree,” Aziraphale murmured. “We’ve never spoken of such an— ah, an _Arrangement_ before.”

“Never?” Gabriel repeated, as though he didn’t quite believe him. “Well— unicorns, Aziraphale, after six thousand years… that sounds like a bit of a _you_ problem.”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, after an appropriately-timed pause to indicate just how offended he was.

“I mean… ah, Hell, Aziraphale, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re a bit wonky when it comes to that demon.” Crowley shrank back into the shadows, heart beating against his long, slender ribcage. “You always have been, though it took a bit for the rest of us to catch on.” Crowley heard the shift of a decisive footstep, and then another. He held his breath, imagining Gabriel reaching out for Aziraphale’s shoulders, looking down upon him with a condescending smile. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Crowley held his breath. His stomach tingled, despite himself. He wanted to die- er, discorporate. Or something.

“Yes,” he heard Aziraphale whisper.

Crowley didn’t breathe, staring blindly towards the door.

“Then what’s the problem?” Gabriel’s voice rose gregariously. “Tell me you’ve at least told him about South Downs for New Year’s?”

Aziraphale coughed. “Of course,” he tried to laugh, but Crowley heard the bitter edge. “I mean, I brought it up—”

“Well, don’t take too long! Even you, Aziraphale, must recognize the danger of waiting forever. And the offer won’t stand forever; only ‘till midnight on New Year’s.”

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale hissed. “I accept, alright? I’ll do it. We’ll be there.”

Crowley flicked his tongue nervously, certain he’d overheard something he hadn’t been meant to. He started to unwind himself, feeling unaccountably as though he needed to hide, worming himself backwards among the stacks of books along the back wall. He tried not to hear the next words exchanged, certain all at once that only the very worst could be expected if he accidentally overheard them before they were meant to be given—

“So you’ll ask him?” Gabriel demanded. “You promise, you will ask your demon Crowley to marry you, at midnight on New Year’s in the South Downs?”

Crowley froze. The world grayed out around him.

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered. He cleared his throat. “I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

Crowley spent the night in the bookshop’s back room, curled into a cranny in the angel’s bookshelves. He’d knocked over a number of hardbound tomes while slithering into his hiding spot, and laid silently beneath them for longer than he cared to admit rather than risk making more noise, his dignity, like his lungs, squashed beneath the dusty books.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to escape Aziraphale’s detection, even after Gabriel took his leave. His angel must have been as discombobulated as Crowley. Still, not to double-check his wards after the archangel left, which would have surely betrayed the demon’s presence…

But Aziraphale stood silently in the foyer for nearly twenty minutes after closing the door behind the archangel. When Crowley finally heard the scuff of his footsteps, he was shuffling away from his wards, up the stairs to his flat. Crowley held his breath, listening as Aziraphale rummaged about upstairs, boiling water for a late-night cup of tea, then settling in for the night, most likely with a book. The demon didn’t hear him move again for hours, not until the windows glowed with morning light.

Crowley didn’t sleep, his mind racing over what he’d overheard.

“Congratulations, old boy,” Gabriel’s voice had boomed across the bookshop as Crowley cringed backwards into the shadows. He heard what sounded like Aziraphale being clapped on the shoulder.  _ “¡Feliz cumpleaños!” _

“I believe that’s a birthday greeting, Gabriel.”

“Well, that too! Thank you, Aziraphale. You’re doing me a huge favor; I can’t tell you what a weight off my back this is.”

“Certainly.” Aziraphale’s voice grew acidic. “What better reason to tie the knot than to get my ex-employer out of a jam?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” said Gabriel cheerfully. “We both know you’re thrilled. You should have seen your face the first time I brought it up: like Christmas had come early! I felt like Santa Clause!”

“Ho Ho,” Aziraphale said.

“Now—” There was rustling, followed by an electronic chime. “—I’ve put some ideas together on this Pinterest board, see? I’m leaning towards an Earth-y, winter theme, you know, since it’s winter and we’re on Earth. What do you think?” There was a brief pause, in which Crowley imagined Gabriel was waiting for the other angel to respond. “We can circle back to that. What’s your Pinterest handle?”

“My what?” Aziraphale said faintly.

Gabriel clucked his tongue. “Really, Aziraphale. Where do you get your hand-crafted home decorating ideas? Look, I wanted to show you these little wooden mugs. Aren’t they cute? You could give them away to your guests. We could have a bar serving hot cocoa—”

“With marshmallows?” Aziraphale began to sound interested. 

“Marshmallows, of course—”

“What about salted caramel? And irish cream?”

“Certainly, certainly…”

“Crowley will want coffee after dinner. And champagne with dinner. And wine for the whole event. Have you put together a wine list yet? How many bottles were you thinking? A hundred? I was thinking two, just in case. On second thought, you’d better send me the menu to look over,” Aziraphale decided. “No offense, Gabriel, but I’d rather be strung up by my kneecaps than offer substandard comestibles at my own wedding party. Or, God  _ forbid, _ run out of food.” He shuddered.

“The menu,” Gabriel repeated, as though just remembering something he knew he’d forgotten. He snapped his fingers. “You got it, buddy. What are we thinking? Pig roast and potluck? Come one, come all, and bring your favorite dish?”

There was another pause, in which Crowley suspected his angel briefly blacked out, before Aziraphale cleared his throat and answered weakly, “You know, I think I’ll call the Ritz. I believe New Year’s Eve just became available on their catering schedule. Leave it to me, dear boy.”

“Well, if you’re sure,” Gabriel answered. “I’ll work on those little wooden mugs. And the guest list, of course.” He chuckled. “Beelzebub practically went into shock when I told them. I thought they were going to faint. I counted five flies go up their nose before they came to and started milking me for details.”

“You’ve spoken to Beelzebub?” Aziraphale’s voice rose. “I didn’t realize... Isn’t it a bit soon? I haven’t told Crowley— I mean, I still have to ask— the timing hasn’t been quite right—”

“I just don’t see what the problem is.” Gabriel’s voice was candid. “What are you worried about? That demon can’t possibly say no. Hell’s agreed they’ll have no jurisdiction over him once he’s under your name and protection. He’ll never have to work again!”

Crowley couldn’t help but think that sounded like a pretty nice deal, what with everything else it included (everything being Aziraphale), but the angel hummed and fell silent.

A moment later, he said, “Forgive me, Gabriel, but I’m not sure you understand half what marriage is.”

Crowley’s ears warmed the moment Aziraphale said the word, despite the fact he was a snake and didn’t have them. He hated it.

“Well,” Gabriel huffed, clearly taken aback. “I mean, this will be the first wedding I’ve ever planned, or attended, or been invited to—”

“And I’m sure you’ll do a splendid job,” Aziraphale hastened to say. “I am grateful for the opportunity, I want you to know that, and I do hope it will help you out of your bind.” His voice grew pointed. “But nothing could compel me to go through with this if Crowley refuses.”

“He won’t,” the archangel insisted. “Besides, that’s nothing a little miraculous persuasion can’t handle.”

“I must repeat myself,” Aziraphale said firmly. “We’ll go forward only if Crowley agrees. What you are asking for is no small thing. It is monumental: the central commitment of many human’s lives, and so it would be for me. You’re not to interfere with his mind or his decision or, or—  _ him  _ in any way. If I find out you have, I’ll leave you in the lurch to clean up this mess by yourself.”

“Alright, keep your hair on,” Gabriel said. “It was just an idea.”

“You’ll leave him alone?” Aziraphale confirmed. “You promise?”

“Yes, fine,” he sighed, exasperated. “Tell me, since you’re so wise. What’s the big deal about marriage, anyway?”

Crowley didn’t pop his head out between two books to better hear the angel’s response. He didn’t.

“That depends, a bit, on the c-couple, I expect. But in general, marriage is an intimate partnership that two people agree to maintain as best they are able for the rest of their lives. The strongest marriages, in my estimation, are founded upon shared core values, mutual respect, and—” He coughed. Crowley heard the forced smile in his voice with a sinking heart. “—and love, of course.”

“But not like Heaven’s love,” Gabriel said, ever the snob.

Aziraphale hummed. “No,” he agreed. “Not like Heaven’s love at all.”

Crowley’s non-existent ears itched. He wanted to scratch them with his non-existent fingers. He wanted to cover them with his non-existent hands, so he didn’t have to hear any more of this bewildering conversation that he should have known better than to stumble upon.

“Core values, huh?” Gabriel said. “You respect and love that demon, then? I mean, Aziraphale. He’s a _ demon.” _

“He’s my best friend,” Aziraphale said. “He’s the only person I trust. In six thousand years, he’s never once let me down. Of course I respect and love him. He’s brilliant, and sweet, and he has an entire galaxy in his head, filled with thoughts like glittering stars that are always burning. He talks between topics as though he’d prefer to touch them all, if he could. Our conversations last for hours and days— years, sometimes— and yet the river never runs dry. Sometimes, we might take a bit to find it again, but we always do, and then there is no end to the nonsense we can spout together.”

The angel paused. “It doesn’t hurt that his form is exceedingly tempting, to me,” he added, voice lowering as though he spoke to himself. “It’s been quite some time since I first thought he was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen.”

Crowley was in shock. His mind whirled too quickly to hold a thought still and examine it. He felt under water, submerged in a warm flood of shivery excitement. He curled his body in tight coils and trembled.

“That’s rather lovely, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said, clearly surprised. “Do you think he’ll say yes?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, wishing again that he might disappear— a half-hearted wish at best.

“I mean, how confident are you that he feels the same way you do? Sixty percent? Seventy?”

“I don’t know,” Aziraphale said quietly. 

“Right: demon. Have you considered the possibility that he’s not capable of such feelings, or of entering into an honest commitment at all—”

“Crowley can do anything,” Aziraphale interrupted, “if he decides it’s something he’s going to do.”

Gabriel left shortly after, clapping him on the back with a hearty, overbearing wish for good luck in his endeavor. Crowley listened to the snick of the door behind him, followed by his footsteps down the snowy sidewalk. Twenty minutes later, the floor creaked when Aziraphale stepped forward to click the lock into place, then turned and shuffled up the stairs.

Crowley stayed below in the back room, tucked into a corner beneath a stack of old books, undergoing a silent mental breakdown.

He’d indulged idle dreams of closeness and safety, affection and belonging, for millennia, yet he hadn’t ever expected to hear Aziraphale say such things, not about anyone and certainly not about him.

But why not, he wondered, growing prickly with himself. It wasn’t as though his angel wasn’t capable of strong feelings, or of expressing them eloquently— much more eloquently than Crowley, who hadn’t read but a fraction of the writings Aziraphale had. Come to think of it, Aziraphale tended to talk more about the books he read that were sweeping romances, full of gallant heroes and star crossed lovers with oversized hopes, fears and dreams, than he did of religious or theoretical texts, though he read those extensively as well.

Aziraphale wasn’t cold or untouchable; Crowley couldn’t bear to imagine for a moment longer that he ever had been. If the demon had stooped to think so at one point or another, that was his weakness, not the angel’s. Aziraphale was allowed to have as many hopes, fears and dreams as any hero or lover— and he did, Crowley realized, his mouth growing dry.

Aziraphale was in love with him. Aziraphale wanted to  _ marry  _ him.

Aziraphale had said that he loved Crowley, that Crowley was brilliant and beautiful— his heart skipped— and  _ sweet _ , the bastard. Crowley felt rather sweet at the moment, fizzy warmth zinging up and down his scales. He tried to bite the feeling down, tried to forget what he’d heard; Aziraphale hadn’t said those things to him, after all, but to the archangel Gabriel of all people. 

But the words rang in his ears over and over, and eventually Crowley succumbed to exquisite ruminations, a blush seeping across his serpentine form.

His mind grew soft as he slid half-in and out of daydreams that merged into actual dreams and back for much of the night.

His angel. He’d ruined a perfectly good demon, he had.

By the time the shadows stretched and shifted, turning the dust gray, Crowley had progressed from fantasy to anxiety. What if it wasn’t true after all? What if Aziraphale had gone along with Gabriel’s aspersions for another reason, some kind of plan? If it was true, why hadn’t he said anything to Crowley? If it was true, how long would it take them to implode, for Crowley to ruin everything and lose the only friend he had?

As the night sky began to lighten, he decided that he must have misunderstood or misheard, and unwound his body from the bookshelf, slithering like a demon possessed (by what? another demon?), from the backroom, through the foyer and out an unusually quiet window that Crowley knew by heart. He stretched up and into his human form, manifesting the slim dark outfit he’d preferred the last three decades or so.

He broke out in a run toward Mayfair. It was easier and harder to think like this, cold air slapping his face, his breath misting the air in huffs. The sidewalk was wet, slick with snow, but Crowley didn’t have the presence of mind to obey physics and slip and fall. He was sure that if he just kept running, he couldn’t possibly descend into the panic attack that was looming.

_ Aziraphale said… Aziraphale wants… Aziraphale loves… _ His thoughts roiled and churned, until finally the effort of the run, his lungs warming, legs burning, brought his mind down to one single thought, one point of focus:  _ Aziraphale. _

He ran all the way back to his flat before he remembered he’d left the Bentley parked down the street from the bookshop.

Crowley snarled at the universe, a bit louder than he intended but he was full-up on feelings at the moment and didn’t bother to control himself. A woman passing by with a miniature poodle at the end of a leash glanced at him nervously before scuttling away across the road. Crowley bared his teeth after them.

Then, he turned around and ran all the way back to the bookshop. 

Dawn broke as he charged up the stairs and pushed through the front doors. He stood in the entryway for a moment, breathing hard.

“Crowley?”

He swung around, heart slamming in his chest. He was grateful for the glasses that hid his eyes, which he was sure were wide with fear and excitement.

“Hey, angel,” he croaked.

Aziraphale took a few, tentative steps from the back room, brows creasing as though he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing. His gaze flicked to the yellow light that had just started streaming through the windows, and back to Crowley.

His face split into a grin.

“Fancy,” he hummed, fingers fluttering. “Bit early in the day for you, isn’t it, my dear?”

Crowley’s stomach fluttered and burned. The angel’s delight at his appearance was palpable. He kept smiling, lips parting with a flash of white teeth before he pressed them together again, shooting Crowley a mischievous glance.

“Let me guess,” he said. “You were just so excited about our trip, you couldn’t sleep last night, is that it?”

“Nn-eurgh… Yeh-hm,” Crowley managed.

“Well, come in, darling, I put the kettle on only a moment ago. I simply must finish cataloguing my 17th- and 18th-century English translations of French religious horror today, but I imagine I’ll want to nip out for a short lunch. Well, reasonably short. Maybe a felafel and a small yogurt parfait. What do you think?”

“Blehg? Mrum,” said Crowley helpfully.

Aziraphale stopped. The demon fell backwards a step when he turned to him with hopeful doe eyes, beaming directly into his sunglasses.

“You do want to go, don’t you?” he asked. His gaze flicked between the two shades as he searched for something, mouth slightly ajar. “You would tell me if you didn’t?”

Crowley knew he meant the trip, not lunch. His head swam from revelations and lack of sleep and the undertow of Aziraphale’s soft, concerned pout.

He cleared his throat. “‘Course,” he said, managing an entire word. “To both,” he added, then shrugged a moment later, cool.

His angel smiled at him. The bastard’s eyes sparkled. 

Crowley tingled in every Satan’s-damned cell of his body, warmth flooding down from the top of his head through his neck and spine to his limbs, pulsing in his fingers and toes. His elbows twinged pleasurably. He took a shaky breath.

He hadn’t misheard. He hadn’t misunderstood.

They passed a decadently stressful morning and lunch, Crowley’s heart racing whenever Aziraphale brought up their impending travels, chattering happily about the bed and breakfasts he’d researched. Crowley kept expecting him to mention the visit from Gabriel, the plans he’d evidently been considering, a question he wanted to ask—

By the afternoon, Crowley’s heart had slowed to trot, still energized but manageable, as he realized that his angel had no intention of bringing up any potentially sensitive topics that day. Indeed, he appeared as though he’d never entertained any potentially sensitive ideas in his life, cheerful and droll and quite occupied with his strawberry parfait.

It occurred to Crowley that Aziraphale, master of the hedonistic arts to repress difficult feelings, was as nervous as he was. The thought didn’t exactly calm Crowley, but it did make him feel just a bit more balanced, more sure of his footing. As everything, they were in this together.

_ He must mean to ease into it,  _ the demon thought, relieved. Perhaps over the course of their trip. He tried not to wonder if that was why the angel had planned the tour to begin with. 

But in the week before their departure, his hypothesis seemed proven correct. Aziraphale spoke of their travel plans often and enthusiastically, but never did he mention Gabriel’s visit or anything in the realm of love, romance, or marriage.

Crowley couldn’t have imagined just how much a week of waiting would turn anxiety, gently, toward anticipation.


	3. Chapter 3

Their scheduled day of departure dawned bright and crisp, perfect as a postcard. A winter storm had blanketed the city a few days prior, more than enough time for those clever humans to clear the roads and shovel off their walkways. The bookshop, covered in a few substantial inches of snow, gleamed like a gingerbread house at the crest of its narrow Soho intersection. The streets glittered with colored lights, tinsel wrapped around the light posts like green-striped candy canes. Aziraphale was almost loath to leave, basking in the cheery festiveness.

Almost.

He pressed the knitted fingers of his gloves against his cold nose and turned, beaming, towards the Bentley, where Crowley struggled to cram their assortment of luggage into the boot. He shoved an oversized chest in one corner, then staggered under the weight of Aziraphale’s dress bag, which resembled a giant stocking packed tight with holiday gifts and surprises.

“Isn’t this lovely?” he called to his friend, positively purring into the feather-lined neck of his coat. He turned back to the bookshop, ignoring any pointed sputtering that might have been directed his way.

He sighed happily, a single snowflake falling upon his nose. He blinked at it, cross-eyed, then pulled a crumpled scroll of parchment from the pocket of his winter coat. He unrolled it carefully, brushing aside the melting snow his gloves had already desecrated it with. He widened his eyes, drawing back to read his own tilting calligraphy. He wished he could wear his reading glasses, but they would just freeze over with the moisture of his breath.

Of course, he didn’t exactly need to breathe. Come to think of it, he didn’t need his reading glasses either, because Aziraphale had perfect vision. He looked back at the paper and read:

_20th Decembere: Ye Grande Departure Day of the First Annual Holidaye Shenanigans Tour. Soho, London to Steeple-on-the-Green._

_21st Decembere: Wine tasting at a lovely little orchard in High Dudgeon, followed by a stay at England’s oldest continuously-running sheep farm slash Masonic Lodge._

_22nd Decembere: Wintere solstice. The community at Old Slattern is exceptionally warm to visitors, especially those of the supernatural persuasion. They may even invite us to participate in their moon dance!_

_23rd Decembere: Old Slattern post-solstice recovery brunch. These sorcerers know their mimosas. Free afternoon, for fortune to favor as it will._

_24th Decembere: Tadfield for Christmas Eve at Jasmine Cottage. Perhaps fortune will favor us to arrive mid-day, so we might settle in and be of service to our hosts if needed. I imagine one demon (unnamed) will be wrapping gifts at the eleventh hour._

_25th Decembere: Christmas Blessings for Tadfield. No Mischief Allowed. Maybe, A Bit, If R.P. Tyler Tests Me._

_26th Decembere: A Day of Recovery will likely be required._

_27th Decembere: Travels south._

_28th Decembere: Lovely B &B I found on the coast. Bracknell-on-the-Water. Impressive wine menu. Near a few vineyards. Private hot springs with ocean view. _

_29th Decembere: Did you know there is a lighthouse in Little Portsmouth? Reviews say the bakery down the street is decadent. I can’t imagine I’ll ever want to leave._

_30th Decembere: Perhaps we’ll stay in the lighthouse until the end of time, or at least until we’re really needed again, like another Armageddon._

_31st Decembere: South Downs._

Aziraphale’s eyes traveled over his beautifully-penned itinerary. His smile grew wooden as he reached the bottom, so he grit his teeth and returned to the top. No need to agonize about that now, he reasoned. Not when they hadn’t even officially departed.

He was _so_ looking forward to the Masonic sheep Lodge. It would be just like old times, he thought happily, remembering Bethlehem.

He rolled up the parchment and tucked it in a coat pocket. He’d given Crowley a copy a few days before. If Aziraphale had held his breath, anticipating the demon’s witty comments and dreaded questions, well, he needn’t have bothered. Crowley hadn’t asked a single thing, just stood there and read the entire itinerary in front of him, brows rising steadily above his glasses. Then he’d nodded, snapped the parchment away, and invited Aziraphale out for elevensies.

“Oi!” Crowley hollered at him presently. He slammed the boot closed, then came around the side of the Bentley. He leaned against it, arms crossed tightly across his chest. Aziraphale saw him suppress a shiver. “You going to stand out there all day, saying goodbye to your bookshop? Maybe sing it a carol or two?”

Aziraphale hurried over. “Are we all packed up, then? Ready for the grande departure?”

“No thanks to you, I noticed,” Crowley groused. He pushed himself off the car and crossed around the front to the passenger’s side door. Aziraphale mirrored him, walking around the back, giving the boot a fond pat as he passed.

“I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way when it comes to you and your Bentley,” he said cheerfully. Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses, then reached for the door handle.

“A moment,” Aziraphale stopped him. His heart pattered in his chest. “If- if you’d be so kind.”

Crowley drew back, his arm dropping to the side. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again and stared at him.

Aziraphale took a deep breath, wrangling his nerves. “In the, ah, spirit of the holidays, I thought it might be nice— that is, everyone likes presents, even silly little knick knacks or tokens— I know I’m a bit late for a true Advent tradition, but…” He huffed at himself, exasperated. Crowley’s stare grew concerned.

He snapped a paper-wrapped package into his hands and thrust it at Crowley. “For you.”

Crowley took the gift in both hands, staring down at it as though it might contain the answers to the universe. He swallowed, throat bobbing.

“Hannakuh’s over, angel,” he murmured. He turned the package over, fingers trembling, and toyed at a piece of tape holding the lovely blue-and-silver paper together. His eyes darted up to meet Aziraphale’s. “I didn’t get you anything,” he said, much too sadly for the angel’s liking.

Aziraphale smiled. “Of course you have. You said yes, didn’t you?”

Crowley gaped. “I- Yeahum. Bu... You- Nnnng?”

Aziraphale blinked, unsure what the miscommunication was. “To the trip?”

“Right, the trip,” Crowley declared, becoming suddenly comprehensible again. “Yeah, sure, if you want to give me presents every time I give you a ride, angel, I won’t argue with that.” He tore the package open, ripping the paper aside with gusto. It decorated the sidewalk at their feet, gleaming like the little sparkly ribbons of a magpie nest.

He held a dark coat in his hands, slim and fitted like the one he currently wore, but different in a few understated details. It was soft to the touch, for one, Aziraphale knew, and its collar was slightly wider, the tails a bit longer, its lines just a tad more... well, _elegant,_ in the angel’s honest opinion. But it was Crowley’s opinion that mattered, and he watched for the demon’s reaction, wishing he didn’t have to wear those irritating sunglasses all the time.

Crowley’s mouth twitched, then he snapped the coat on, swapping it with his previously-manifested jacket. Aziraphale pursed his lips, pouting at the heathen who didn’t even bother to slide the hand-crafted garment onto his shoulders.

“Satan’s tit, Aziraphale, this is warm!” Crowley exclaimed. He flipped the collar over his chin and huddled his nose into the lining. Aziraphale preened.

“Yes, Crowley, coats are indeed meant to keep you warm in cold weather; they’re not just for appearances.” He reached out and rubbed his hands up and down Crowley’s arms, the fabric bunching against his knit gloves. “Although this one is quite handsome, I think.” Another snowflake landed in his eyelashes as his gaze swept over his demon. “As are you,” he murmured.

He stepped away a moment later, realizing what he’d said. He coughed, feeling his cheeks burn, and chanced a glance at the other. Crowley looked, quite simply, bowled over.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. He looked around, then snapped the wrapping paper to a nearby waste bin. “Shall we, darling?” he asked, brushing his hands clean though he hadn’t actually picked anything up.

Crowley swept forward and opened the door, unusually quiet. Aziraphale rabbited another glance at him, then folded himself primly into the Bentley. “Thank you,” he hummed and wiggled into the seat, making himself comfortable.

Crowley didn’t close the door. Aziraphale looked up, squinting against the late morning light. The demon stood over him, a tall, slim silhouette in an alarmingly attractive coat.

Crowley’s lip curled up at one corner as they stared at each other. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered.

Crowley grinned and snapped the door shut. Aziraphale watched him through the windshield, practically skipping around the front of the car. He threw himself into the driver’s seat and revved the engine.

“Truly, Aziraphale, have you miracled this coat? Is that why it’s so warm?”

Aziraphale blushed. He may have used a few miracles to fix his dreadful stitching, that was true— he’d never submit Crowley to the horror of a lopsided hem— but the coat retained heat because its lining was stuffed full of feathers.

Angel feathers, specifically.

He was about to tell Crowley that, truly he was, when the demon mashed the pedal to eighty miles-per-hour, inducing him to a mild heart attack to the pounding drumline of “Another One Bites The Dust.”

Ye Grande Holidaye Shenanigans Tour had officially begun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol, "plot"

_Earlier in December..._

Gabriel wandered down the center of a giant green canyon, his head swiveling from side to side. Rolling hills rose in all directions, dotted with emerald fields and manicured pastures. A cold breeze swept through the valley, tasting faintly of sea salt. 

The air was coated with earth-dust that caught in the angel’s throat and made him cough. His feet would have been a sight if he weren’t miracling them clean, walking barefoot in the dirt. He held a golden staff in one hand, and wore a long white robe and his shiniest halo for the occasion. Might as well show up with some pomp, he’d thought.

“ _Crux-Hylla!”_ he called, his voice booming but friendly, a boisterous wake-up call. “How many centuries have you been sleeping? It’s time to get up! Heaven requires your aid.”

An eagle winged above him, its shadow circling the grass beside his feet. Gabriel waited a moment. The eagle screeched, startling him out of his wits.

He glared up at the bird. “Do you mind?” The eagle swooped away.

The archangel closed his eyes, both hands folded upon his staff. He sent out a frisson of energy into the ground, one that no living creature could ignore, no matter how deeply it was sleeping.

Rocks shifted at Gabriel’s feet. He felt the ground rumble beneath him, followed by a whistle of air on his face. A moment later, he heard the telltale scrabbling of nails against stone. He blinked his eyes open, teeth flashing in a gregarious smile.

The earth beside him had cracked open into a second canyon, so deep the bottom faded into darkness. The creature presently pulling itself over the ledge bore more than a passing resemblance to a giant scorpion, like the Balrog that Gandalf defeated, the geezer. But Gabriel knew its vicious-looking exterior contrasted with a dopey personality.

“Greetings from Heaven,” Gabriel announced. Crux-Hylla towered over him, dark and crab-legged. The creature squinted at the low-hanging sun, then shook its head blearily, evidently still trying to wake up. It focused a giant row of shiny eyes on Gabriel.

Crux-Hylla was technically an angel, though it hadn’t been back to Heaven in eons and certainly didn’t obey the dress code. If Gabriel remembered correctly, it had been created only moments before Lucifer Fell, when Heaven split the very first time and Hell was born. Apparently, Crux-Hylla didn’t like war, and spent a few thousand years bouncing around the stars until finally finding a home on Earth. Gabriel had lost track of it in the ensuing millennia, but a few well-placed calls had revealed the location of its current nest beneath this narrow canyon in a windswept corner of South Downs National Park.

“We call upon your help in an hour of need,” the archangel continued. Crux-Hylla had specific powers that Gabriel had forgotten about. Now that he’d remembered, it was the creature’s responsibility to come as bid and serve Heaven, in Gabriel’s view. It had never been officially Cast OutTM, after all. Its powers were just what were needed to give Heaven the upper hand while at the same time accelerating conditions for (what else?) Armageddon on Earth—

But before Gabriel could set about tactfully broaching that subject, Crux-Hylla threw back its spindly-horned head and wailed, releasing a surge of energy that crackled the air and darkened the late-afternoon sky.

“Bwaaaah!” It howled, so loudly Gabriel almost clapped his hands over his ears. “Guh— guh— waaaaaaaaah!”

“What is the matter with you?” Gabriel demanded, but the creature was quite occupied with its blubbering and didn’t answer him. Multiple eyes dripped tears down its ugly spiked head, and its flat nose grew puffy with softening sinuses. It paused long enough to take a deep, mucus-y breath.

“Booo...ooo...ooo... HOOOOOOO!” Crux-Hylla hollered.

Gabriel pounded his staff into the ground. “CRUX-HYLLA!” he shouted. “Stop your caterwauling at once!”

The creature sniffed, then collapsed dramatically onto its back, long legs kicking.

“You lied!” Crux-Hylla wailed. “You’re a big meany-head, you lying— LIAR!”

Gabriel ducked a tantruming limb, not a moment too soon, and scuttled backwards to safety.

“What’s all this about?” he asked, genuinely confused. The last time Gabriel had seen the oversized insect, they’d parted on rather good terms, he’d thought. Crux-Hylla agreed to stay on Earth and keep out of his business, and in exchange, Gabriel had promised to work toward healing the rift between Heaven and Hell—

Oh, _right._ Gabriel pulled a face.

“You haven’t done anything!” Crux-Hylla accused. It rolled from side to side, clutching several arms to its face. “No, you’ve made it worse! The rift is even larger than it was when I laid down to hibernate. I thought you were going to fix it, but you lied, you— you— Lying Angel!”

Gabriel bristled. “Now see here—”

He paused. Something had changed. Something was different. He felt all at once as though his collar had been zipped too tightly. He quickly spread his awareness over the Park, then to the region, then the country. He was prepared to envelop the globe in his surveillance when abruptly he discovered the cause of his discomfort, and pulled up short.

“Stop!” he blustered. “You can’t— That’s not what I— You must stop at once!”

“No!” Crux-Hylla crossed its arms mulishly, still lying on its back. “If Heaven can’t learn to work aside its own family, then I don’t see any reason why you should be allowed free passage on Earth.”

Gabriel cursed himself. Crux-Hylla’s powers were in passageway management between realms. Gabriel had brokered their original deal, sending the creature underground for millennia, because Crux-Hylla had been getting a bit too friendly with those other realms in his opinion.

Gabriel gasped as he felt another passageway, the one at Kensington that he liked for its Men’s Dress Barn on the corner, contract into slimmer and slimmer dimensions, until _Pop!_ It disappeared as well.

“Crux-Hylla! You can’t close our passageways to Earth! How will we supervise and protect God’s creations if you do? The humans will be defenseless when Hell attacks!”

Crux-Hylla shrugged. “Hell’s not so bad. That’s what I’m telling you. Some of those guys throw really fun poker nights.”

Gabriel’s temper flared. “This is treason! How dare you go against God’s plans and give the enemy an unfair advantage?” Three more passageways across Europe collapsed into nothing-ness. “Crux-Hylla, stooooooop,” he whined.

“Why should I? You didn’t even try to keep your word. And don’t give me that crap about ‘God’s plans,’ either. You only care about Gabriel’s plans, don’t you?”

“My plans are Heaven’s plans; and Heaven’s plans are God’s plans. What is so hard to understand about that?” Gabriel shook his head. “I can’t believe I have to go through this again. Like Armageddon wasn’t enough—”

The sky thundered, winds swirling. He snapped his mouth shut.

“Did you say _Armageddon?!”_ Crux-Hylla shrieked.

“Uhm…” Gabriel swallowed. He felt as though he’d stuck a rather large foot in his mouth. “No?”

A bolt of lightning flashed down from the sky. Gabriel jumped backwards only a split-second before it singed the Earth where he’d been standing.

“Hey!” he protested. “It’s not like we went through with the whole world-ending thing. We’re still standing here on Earth, aren’t we?”

“That’s not good enough!” Crux-Hylla yelled. “Heaven and Hell clearly aren’t interested in healing the rift; so long as you don’t come together, Earth will always be in danger of becoming your battleground. I can’t let that happen! No, I’ll shut both of you out before you can do any more damage.” And to Gabriel’s dismay, he felt passageways all over the globe begin closing; not just the official entrances, but the hidden doors and side alleys, as well.

He pulled at the neckline of his robe. What would the other angels say when they found out he’d gotten their ability to interfere on Earth removed? Michael would have his head.

 _Pop!_ There went the passage to the men’s restroom on the second floor of Macy’s in New York City. Gabriel pouted. He liked to use that one around Christmas-time. Made him feel like he was in the classic holiday film, _Miracle on 34th Street._

“I haven’t told you yet why I came out here and woke you up,” he said loudly.

“You just want to use me for your stupid plans,” Crux-Hylla started to argue.

“No, not at all,” Gabriel lied. “I came here, actually, to invite you… to a party.”

Crux-Hylla regarded him suspiciously. His pincers clicked. “A party?” he repeated.

Gabriel nodded. “Big party. The biggest. Heaven and Hell will both be invited. Actually,” he added, thinking quickly, “I came to ask if you might host.”

Crux-Hylla’s many eyes widened. “Host?”

“Well, the party’s got to be here on Earth, right? Can’t imagine too many demons would show up to a party behind the pearly gates. And Hell just doesn’t have the right ambiance, you know? Too many fluorescents.”

“I suppose,” said the oversized bug. He scuttled from one side of the canyon to the other, a clear sign he was growing interested. He stopped, pinning Gabriel with a look. “Why are Heaven and Hell having a party?”

Gabriel pressed his fingertips together. “Why do the humans generally have parties?”

Crux-Hylla blinked, tilting its head thoughtfully. “Birthdays, usually. Sometimes they celebrate the harvest. And holidays, of course, though you’ve hardly given me any time to plan a Christmas party. Let’s see: graduation, just moved into a new house, passed their driving test… Weddings, certainly—”

Gabriel snapped. “That one,” he decided. “It’s definitely that one.”

Crux-Hylla’s eyes grew soft and dewy. “Oh, really? How lovely! Who is getting married?”

“Who _is_ getting married?” Gabriel mused to himself. He tapped his chin. It couldn’t be a human couple; otherwise, there’d be no reason to invite the legions of Heaven and Hell to attend. No, it had to be—

Turnips. It had to be an angel and a demon.

Gabriel heaved a great sigh. Well, Aziraphale owed him one for messing up his plans in the first place. What was a little assassination attempt? Water under the bridge.

“One of Heaven’s finest angels,” Gabriel declared, gritting his teeth at the description, “is getting hitched to a demon soon— on New Year’s Eve, in fact, at midnight! You see? Heaven and Hell aren’t such terrible enemies. Everything is perfectly harmonious. There is absolutely no need for you to close the passageways to Earth.”

Crux-Hylla scuttled in a delighted little circle. “An angel and a demon? Oh, do you mean it, Gabriel? And me, host the wedding party?” It sat down on its rump, overwhelmed, pincers waving. “I would be so pleased. And may I bring a plus-one? I must meet the happy couple, Gabriel, and give them my blursings!”

Gabriel squinted. “You mean blessings?”

Crux-Hylla looked aghast. “Me, bless a demon, at his own wedding? I would never be so rude!”

Gabriel sighed, retrieved his phone and opened the Pinterest app. He had some planning to do.


End file.
